


Don't Be Afraid To Touch

by bloodsugar



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Bayern München, Borussia Mönchengladbach, Bundesliga, Chris' POV, FIFA World Cup 2014, M/M, World Cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2108400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsugar/pseuds/bloodsugar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris likes to touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Be Afraid To Touch

**Author's Note:**

> So I realized that too much of my Neumer is from Manu's POV, so I wrote this and liked it. Ha! (Yeah IDEK.) This is for everyone who's kindly left me enthusiastic lovely comments. And once again, lack of feedback is super discouraging for me as a writer, so please take the time to leave me some.   
> Finally, this isn't a part of the My Heart Only Beats For You Without Stopping, Telling Me I’m Ready To Go series, it's a standalone. Hope you like it! :)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chris likes to touch.

 

He has made his peace with it, too. This is who he is, and this is how he expresses himself. Every touch is an opportunity to show admiration, love, affection, gratitude. Every emotion can be revealed and experienced through the slightest of touches. But then again, he’s never been into light touches. When Chris touches, he likes to hold, to grab, to stroke, to keep. Through touching he claims a piece of the moment for himself – not as a mere memory, but as a wonderful new part of him. 

 

As a kid, he’d tug at his friends’ arms; pull them in for hugs all the time. His dad would tell him “Christoph, boys shouldn’t touch so much, they should have more self control.” His dad meant well, but as a child, Chris didn’t see why anyone should ‘control’ their hugs. What was so bad about holding his friends close? So he wouldn’t listen, even if he wanted his dad to approve of him. Maybe it was a compulsion; maybe he just didn’t have this self control his father spoke of. 

 

Later on, when he discovered football, Chris discovered control too. Controlling the ball was essential, it felt right, and beyond that it felt good –reining a force in and making a choice on how much of it to use. That control though was saved for football only. Chris never saw that it should bleed through to how he interacted with people around him. And the great thing about football was that he was surrounded by boys just like him, ones who weren’t afraid to celebrate a goal by jumping on top of each other or grabbing at each other, enormous grins of excitement plastered on their faces. Chris loved his fellow team mates, because they, much like him, didn’t care about how men were supposed to touch less.

 

At age 18, a girl he dated told him “You know, your dad just meant you weren’t supposed to get your hands on other  _guys_ so much.” Chris had already caught onto that one. She also said “But if they like to put their hands on you too, then who cares?” and that one he’d never really thought about until then. 

 

By the time Chris’ twenties rolled in, he’d stopped caring about what it meant that he, a young man, liked to touch, a lot. Touching was wonderful, he’d experienced some of the loveliest times in his life through touch – be it in a friendly or in a sexual way. If someone didn’t like to be touched, he’d pull back, give them their space. But that wasn’t often the case in his line of work. Football gave him the freedom to be who he is, and gave him an extended family to be himself with, too.

 

When he was selected to be a part of the Germany National Football Team, Chris didn’t have to wonder if he’d fit in, if he’d be accepted. His place on the team was there, waiting for him and the way he took it was much like jumping into a pool – going in without reservations and having the water welcome you with an accommodating embrace around your entire body. 

 

They all love each other. Bastian loves Lukas, Thomas loves Bastian, Mats loves André, and on and on it goes. It is genuine and open, and no one seems to think twice about the cameras around or the hoards of fans watching them. Chris is  _home_ with them and he loves them, too, so naturally he clings to them happily and happily they let him. 

 

On the pitch after the match with Algeria, Manu – fast, strong, tall; the best goal keeper in the world – reaches for Chris, holds his hand lightly, the touch lingering. Chris looks at him with admiration, Manu smiles back at him warmly, and Chris just might love him a bit more than he loves the others. 

 

They sit together on the bus and Manu laughs at Chris’ jokes, even the bad ones. Manu doesn’t humor him though, he is unapologetic and frank and honest about everything, and those are qualities Chris respects. It’s even better that way because when Manu tells him “You did so well.” in a training session, Chris knows he means it. He grins at the goalkeeper, chest swelling with pride a little bit, and they practice penalties. Chris likes being one on one with Manu on the pitch, it feels intimate somehow in the open space, even if behind his back he can hear Thomas telling Per he wants a piggyback ride. 

 

After training Manu slides his arm confidently around Chris’ shoulder and they walk to the changing rooms together. At dinner Manu slides into the chair next to him so casually Chris almost forgets to feel happy about it. It’s the kind of happiness young people feel when they meet their idol and he/she agrees to take a selfie with them, he thinks. 

At a match he gets hit in the head so hard he nearly sees stars. Finds himself lying on the pitch with the medical team running to his side, asking him questions he can’t quite hear at first because his ears are ringing. He pulls himself up and pats their shoulders soothingly. “I’m okay.” He says, he has a game to play after all. He gets substituted anyway after forgetting that this match is actually the World Cup final. In half time, surrounded by his concerned team mates and with Manu’s fingers pressing lightly at his temples, he finally admits he probably has a concussion. 

 

They win the cup and it is the best moment of Chris’ life by far. He almost can’t believe how good it feels, to stand there with his special family, a golden medal hanging around his neck, matching the ones his team mates are wearing. He’s screaming at the top of his lungs the moment Philipp first lifts the cup, an answering roar surrounding him from players and fans alike. 

 

Chris finds his way to Manu and clutches at him – hugging him from behind; cupping the back of the goalkeeper’s head and neck as he leans in close to speak in the older man’s ear; pressing himself tight up against Manu’s side. Their bodies are thrumming, alive with the excitement, the accomplishment, the happiness, their team mates talking and cheering around them. “The Golden Glove, huh?” Chris asks, his lips brushing Manu’s ear on accident first before he comes back in with purpose, planting one on the goalkeeper’s cheek. “You deserve it more than anyone!” he beams as Manu’s blue eyes get a proud glint to them. Chris’ hands tighten in Manu’s shirt as he pulls their bodies close together again. He can’t help himself, he likes to touch. 

 

That night, at a club in Rio, Latin music bursting through the speakers, Chris owns the dance floor with Per and Shkodran before collapsing next to Manu in their booth. Their legs tangle together and Chris can’t stop smiling when he reaches for his water. He can’t drink booze, but it doesn’t matter since he’s drunk on professional success and physical proximity, both with the people he is beyond fond of. They talk about nothing and everything, Chris’ hand on Manu’s thigh, the goal keeper’s arm around his shoulder, their heads tilted toward each other. 

 

They kiss for the first time in front of Chris’ hotel room in the little hours of the morning, with Manu pushing him hard into the door, groaning low in his throat as Chris arches his body so that every inch of their bodies is pressing together. They fall asleep in a heap on his bed, with Chris’ hands halfway up Manu’s shirt and his leg slung over the goal keeper’s thighs. 

 

Later they wake up happy, and hungover in Manu’s case, smiling for no reason – oh, but there is plenty of reason to smile; helping each other pack as they alternate between his and Manu’s room. In the hallway sleepy Jérôme and Mario wait for them to go to the airport together, their bodies slouched against the wall and each other. Chris keeps congratulating Mario on his winning goal all the way down to the lobby until Manu pinches his arm to shut him up. 

 

At the celebrations in Berlin, Chris wears the German flag like brand, feeling patriotic and euphoric and invincible. He swears he almost hears an eagle’s call at one point, a moment before Manu’s gentle fingers on his neck request his attention. Chris is more than happy to oblige with it, leaning in close and slipping his arm around the goalkeeper’s shoulders. In the evening, Manu invites him to hang out in Munich for the rest of the week and Chris says yes without thinking twice about it. 

 

The first couple of days they walk around Munich together, signing autographs for fans in between the moments Chris drags Manu in stores on his hunt for a pair of victory-sneakers. He’s like a kid, giddy with the happiness that doubles in him with good company. Manu doesn’t discourage him, so Chris can’t even muster to feel sorry. On Friday they go for a run together, take turns in the shower and make out on the couch, an episode of Friends on the TV in the background. It’s their first kiss since the one in Brazil and Chris is both nervous and excited, hesitating and flushing some when Manu has him straddle his lap. 

 

They go to a bar on Saturday evening after a lazy day of eating and sleeping. Chris takes a swig of Manu’s beer - just one, just a little bit; it’s been days since his concussion and it won’t hurt. Manu smiles at him, shaking his head – “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Chris scoots forward on his barstool, brushing their knees together, holding the goalkeeper’s gaze. Instead of an answer he gives Manu a grin, the corners of his lips almost hurting from smiling so wide. 

 

That night Chris sleeps in Manu’s bed instead of the guest room, and what do you know. With the older man’s satisfyingly heavy weight pressing, and then rocking him into the mattress, Chris has a revelation.

 

As it turns out, Manu likes to touch too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
